


Harry boards a train

by Lilian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Study, Child Abuse, Consensual Underage Sex, Explicit Language, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Mature Harry, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, PoC Harry, Present Tense, Young Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 05:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11890905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilian/pseuds/Lilian
Summary: "Oh yes." Dumbledore smiled at him. "We are in King's Cross, you say? I think that if you decided not to go back, you would be able to…let's say…board a train."-	Harry Potter and The Deathly HallowsAfter talking to Dumbledore on ’King’s Cross’, Harry decides to get on a train instead of going back to fight.This is where the story starts: He boards a train. Too bad that it’s already occupied.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote because I’ve had a lot of feelings about Severus’s abusive childhood, and (for years now, I’ve) kept imaging different scenarios on how Harry might have saved him, had he been aware earlier/gotten a Time Turner or whatever. This is the closest thing to that and still somewhat believable, I hope. 
> 
> I didn’t tag this as Character Death, because let’s be real, I WILL NEVER LET THEM DIE. Still, this whole fic takes place in some ’nothing land/ Harry’s mind’, so just… yeah. 
> 
> Also, apologies for any grammar/logical mistakes, I’m not British and English is not my first lanugage. This fic was beta-read by Linka, whom I most humbly wish to thank that she’s willing to read stories of her NOTP just because it comes from me. :)
> 
> This fic is finished, and will consist of five chapters. I’ve planned to upload them once a week, but if I get enough comments I might be persuaded otherwise. Enjoy! :)

(Chapter One)

**one.**

+

He gets on the train.

+

The first time Severus remembers it happening, he is four years old. His only memories about that time all seem to be about beatings and nights alone in the dark in his bed, the covers on him from neck to toe, the thin material never warm enough.

That night, same as the others, he is struggling to fall asleep. The drunken grumblings of his father and the hiccupy crying of his mother has long quieted away, and his shivering has stopped – that is, until he hears a heavy sigh.

Someone is in his room. Severus freezes, not knowing what to do – should he play dead or try to escape? Neither trick works with Father, but it can’t be Father, because he would have heard _him_ coming up the stairs. Maybe it’s a thief, although what can anyone hope to steal from them is a mystery. _Let it be a thief-_ Severus begs to the universe silently, unmoving. His eyes are closed tightly, his face turned on his right side, bathing in the moonlight. He tries not to let the tremors of fear run through his body as he feigns slumber.

”Snape?... Severus Snape?” The stranger in his room asks in a surprised tone. Severus has no idea who he is, but it’s definately a male voice. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t move. He pleads deep inside himself: _Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me._

”Oh.” That is the next thing the man says. Then nothing for minutes that feel like hours. But he is still there, Severus feels him watching his shape under the cover. He doesn’t know what to do with that but maybe, just a slim chance, but maybe he won’t be beaten this time, will he? Surely it would have started already, if that were the case, but the stranger hasn’t even moved closer to his bed.

”I’m sorry if I startled you.” The man is whispering to him this time. ”I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’m… just here to tell you something. Erm, I think. Yes. Listen carefully, Severus, because this is very important. You have to remember this, okay?”

Severus doesn’t understand. What is happening? How does the stranger know his name? Is this a trap of some kind? Is he going to kidnap him?

”The thing is… This situation, that you are in now, this will pass. You will live through this, you will survive all of this, and…” The stranger stops for a few seconds. ”…you know what the best thing is? You will have people who love you, later on. They will love you very, very much. You just have to wait to meet them. Don’t give up.”

Severus is utterly confused. The words ring clear, if low, and the stranger is talking in English, but he simply doesn’t understand. What is the man talking about?

”Everything will get better. I know this, because I’m from the future. So, just… believe in good people, okay, Severus? And...”

His presense disappears as quickly as it came and just a second later, Severus can’t quite decide whether the whole thing really happened, or if it was just a dream or a hallucination.

+

His stomach is in knots, and he can still feel the smell of fear and poverty lingering in his nostrils. It must have been a fluke, or a memory stuck to him when… When he was bleeding them out. (Horrible, all of it, but it’s over now.)

It may have been a lie, what he said to the child, but he needed to say it, at that moment, for his own sake. He doesn’t even know if the kid heard him, but the knowledge that Severus Snape’s happiest memories in his whole life included a friendship with his mother makes him think that maybe, it was not entirely untrue. He’s never seen such a small child in such dire circumstances, and suddenly he hated it more than he did his own place under the stairs: at least that tiny space was always warm. Sometimes too warm, but… Uncle Vernon never actually hit him, not the way little Severus was clearly beaten, with yellowing bruises all over his face.

Harry gets up from the green seat where the whirring movement made him collapse as he left the memory. Although… he couldn’t have been _in_ the memory, physically, right? One could only watch memories in a Pensieve, and this was a simple, ordinary train carriage. An imagined one, perhaps, if he interpreted Dumbledore’s words right.

Well. It doesn’t matter. Whatever it was or is. He’s moving on now.

But even as he forces himself to take a few calming breaths, he feels he can’t sit there. It’s too hard not to think about the way the young Snape shuddered under the covers. Perhaps if he walks over to the next compartment.

He closes the door behind the first car and goes to the next.

+

**two.**

+

Then Severus is five, and he’s getting knocked around the second time that day. (The first time was for spilling water, but now his father is drunk enough not to bother with an excuse.) Severus’s whole face is swelling, he can barely see out of his left eye, and there is blood seeping steadily to block the vision of his right, from a wound on his forehead. He simultaniously hopes for and dreads an accidental magic-release; it happened before when he thought he was going to die, and it knocked Tobias right out for more than 12 hours. The repercussions were… beyond terrible, but at least he now has the knowledge of not being completely defenseless.

He thinks he’s still a good few punches away from that state though.

Then the completely unexpected happens. A stranger’s voice cuts sharply through their cottage.

”Let him go!”

Severus can’t see much, but he senses his father’s drunken confusion. There is a man standing in their living room, taller than Severus, but shorter than his father. He has dark hair and brown skin, and he sounds very angry.

(It’s going to be his fault, won’t it? Whatever happens, he’ll be the one who gets beaten for it. Or maybe. Maybe it’s a wizard coming to take him away. But no, he can’t be that lucky. Besides, they never, ever came before – why would they care now?)

”You will let him go immediately, and you’ll never hurt him again, or else I…”

His father laughs. He actually lets go of Severus’s arm, and Severus knows he should run and hide, but he’s too curious about what will happen.

”You think I’m afraid of you, wanker?” His father mocks the stranger. ”I kicked arses far bigger than yours, three in a row. It’s my business how I discipline my boy.” He lets out a harsh, cutting laugh that makes the hair stand up on the back of Severus’s neck. ”Now get out of my house before I rip you another one.”

”I’d like to see you try.” The stranger says calmly, and Severus is in awe. He struggles to look at the person who so easily contradicts his father without being intimidated by him. He wants to see him properly, to determine if he stands any chance against Father in a fight, but he can’t open his eyes completely because of his swellings. It hurts to even try.

It’s a very short fight, anyways. One minute, his father is closing in on the stranger, the next second, he’s lying unconcious by the wall he’s been thrown into. It’s a wizard then, but suddenly, the mere fact is more intimidating than freeing. That man took out his father with a single spell. What if he’ll hurt Severus when he finds out he can’t give him anything he might want? They are piss poor, so there is nothing of value in the house, not…

”Are you all right?” The stranger asks, kneeling next to his crumpled form a blink later. Severus can’t help but yelp in fear.

”I’m sorry if I startled you.” The stranger quickly moves back a step. His voice is soft and kind, completely unlike it was when he was speaking to his father. ”I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Severus should know better than to trust him, and he really doesn’t, but he lets him heal his wounds nonetheless. It’s not like he has a choice.

The fingers touching his face are featherlike, gentle. The magic sawing his lips and forehead back together tingles warmly.

The man’s eyes are green behind his glasses. He smiles at him, but it looks like it hurts him somehow.

Severus is suddenly so tired. He wants to weep, but he doesn’t dare.

+

Harry gets jerked out of the memory in the same manner it happened the first time: a spinning sensation comes over him, like a hurricane picking him up; a huge gush of wind that deposits him from the Snapes’s living room into the second compartment of the train as quick as a blink.

It’s nauseating, but not as much as that young boy’s face was.

He wants to kill that fucking pig.

He steps over to the next carriage, both baffled and intrigued by the previous experience. When he saw the man towering over little Severus, he called out instinctly, and he hasn’t had the chance to wonder how was it possible he could _alter_ the memory. Because that’s what he’d done; if it indeed _was_ a memory.

Perhaps it is something different; a set of trials to determine if he belonged in hell or heaven?

Harry didn’t think that very likely. Involving Snape in that would be pretty weird.

+

**three.**

+

He gets transported as soon as the back of his calves touch the green seat in the next car.

This is somewhat like the last memory, in the sense that the house he arrives to is the same drab home: consisting of a tiny room which he now knows is young Severus’s, then the one containing only a bed and a wardrobe where his parents must sleep, or more like where Tobias stumbles into drunkenly or where Eileen silently cries herself to a fitful rest, Harry imagines.

He is apprehensive, having to ’visit’ it again. He doesn’t think it can possibly be better than the last time, with the horrified boy frozen in terror on his barely covered bed, or the ragdoll of a bleeding child, defenseless against his father’s fists.

Harry’s had some ideas about Snape’s childhood from the _Legillimens_ he turned around on him at their Occlumency lessons in his fifth year; he could read a lot of other things from the furnishing, the smell and the overall atmosphere of the place.

He hated to see Snape so frightened. It would have been horrible seeing any child in those situation, but the one he’d known to become brave, grown-up, terrifying Professor Snape was even worse.

And now he is standing here again.

The house seems quiet. No noises from the elder Snape. No sign of Severus’s mother. Maybe nobody’s home? Not very probable. Harry feels the same ’quiet before the storm’ sensation he sometimes did with Uncle Vernon.

Whatever is about to happen, Harry figures it would be best to find Severus, then set out to find out what’s the whole situation, and if he can help out in any way. He goes over the whole house, looks into the two cupboards large enough to hide a small person, peers under the beds and behind the doors. Severus (or anyone else) is nowhere to be found. Harry goes back to the main room, and pulls out his wand for a spell to confirm everyone’s absence magically, but then he hears a small gasp coming from somewhere below.

He kneels down and finds himself eye to eye with a black-haired, long nosed, bruised faced kid. It is the young Severus Snape, roughly the same age as last time.

Harry sucks in a breath. Last time, he could barely see anything besides the swollen eyes and the blood covering his face. Before that, it was only the siluette of a body in the moonlight, a child desperately pretending to be asleep. Now he notices how underfed and dirty the little boy looks. If it weren’t for the nose and the deep, mistrustful onix eyes, that immediately give him away, he’d assume he’s looking at a nameless orphan child living under a bridge.

The only thing that remains the same from the previous times is the fear coming off of him in waves; it’s so palpable Harry feels sick. He tries to be as non-threatening as he is physically capable of, folding in on himself, so he takes up even less space.

”Hi. I’m Harry. I’m sorry if I startled you, appearing in your home so suddenly. I won’t hurt you, I promise.” The softly spoken words don’t lessen the intense suspicion of the child’s frightened gaze, but there is some curiosity behind those black eyes as well.

”Are you a wizard?” Severus enquires in a high voice. Somehow – it’s stupid, but Harry expected it to be the same baritone he’s used to. But this is only a young boy, seemingly very intrested in magic.

Harry smiles at him wildly, bringing his hand forward.

”I am, yes. See my wand?” He shows it to Severus, who’s instantly mesmerised.

”You can try it, if you’d like.” It is a hazard on his part, but seeing how Severus can’t be more than five years old and judging by his expression (going from wonder to manic eagerness to crushed hope and finally, to wariness), he is on the right track.

”It’s not a trick. You can try it out. Have you ever used one before?”

Severus nods slowly, eyes firmly fixed on Harry’s open hand and the wand lying on his palm, which is extended towards him. Still with a grave face, as if expecting a betrayal, Severus snatches the wand out of his hand, and immediately points it at him.

Harry makes sure that his position remains relaxed, his face open and kind. He sort of figured this might happen.

”So, what sort of spells do you know?” He asks conversationally. Severus looks at him as if he’d asked why the sky is blue. Well, maybe not so different to his adult self after all.

”I know some,” the child answers, which Harry interprets as _’I know a lot, far too much for it to make any sense listing them, you dunderhead’_. He is somewhat of an expert at hearing the insults out of Snape’s tone alone – funny how that talent isn’t affected by how old Snape is.

”Well, you can try something, if you want to.” Severus looks at him like he contemplates which one of the long list of spells he knows would be the most appropriate for the occasion. Then there is a familiar word and a spell.

Harry catches his left arm where the Stinging Hex hit him, and starts rubbing the highly uncomfortable itch. So wherever weird dreamland he’s in, he can still feel physical sensations. Which means he can also get hurt. _Lovely_.

How sadly telling, that the child would chose this sort of magic over making the chairs dance or something similarly innocent and benevolent.

But there is still fear in the dark eyes. He holds the wand like a shield. Harry realises it was a test, to see if he’s trustworthy.

”That was impressivily powerful.” He wagers. ”When I learned this spell I was in my first year at Hogwarts, and you seem much younger than that.”

He hides a smile as Severus preens at the praise. He doesn’t provide his own age, as Harry had also hoped to achieve with his compliment.

”Do you know the counterspell as well?” He asks the youngster, who now seems to be equally fascinated with both Harry _and_ the wand.

”Is there a specific counterspell to it? Protego’s not enough?” Severus questions eagerly. Harry smiles at him again. With his dirty face and short hair and ratty clothes, he doesn’t resemble his older self that much. And his enthusiasm is… for lack of a better word, cute.

”Protego is wonderful against a lot of things, this curse included. But there is a spell that can make you immune to the effect, if you cast it a few moments before the hex hits you. It’s protection lasts up to a few minutes. Or it can rid you immediately of the itches.” He explains, hoping that it will balance the darkness in Severus out somehow. _It’s important to know how to heal as well, not only how to inflict harm_ – he wants to say.

”Do you want to learn it?” He asks instead, rather rhetorically. He can guess the answer easily enough. Still, it is delightful to watch the light ignite in the small boy’s eyes.

(’ _Nobody is born inherently evil_ ,’ he remembers Hermione saying it to him once, but he only begins to understand what she meant now.)

Harry teaches him the spell and then a few others he deems age-appropriate, while not once taking the wand away from young Snape, who eventually climbs out from under the table and runs around excitedly among the room’s sparse furnishings, shooting spells at everything.

It is quite amazing how many spells he is familiar with. Harry has the suspition someone carelessly left magical books around for Snape to read at his own leasure: that is, he can’t imagine that this mixed garble of spells would have been thought to him by any reasonable adult.

It’s a joy to watch him be finally relaxed in his presence. The boy’s quick trust is probably partly due to the fact that Harry is a willing target for all spells and doesn’t protest or get mad for the nastier ones; a bit of itching or burning sensation is a small price to pay to see young Severus grin from ear to ear.

He’s never seen him this happy. Not even when he thought they’d get the Dementors to give Sirius the Kiss.

Their merry is put to an abrupt end by the sound of approaching footsteps, then the front door opening.

Harry prays it to be Severus’s mother, Eileen, but the boy’s immediate freezing and telltale twitch proves his more realistic guess.

He quickly kneels before the flinching Severus, and whispers to him urgently while they hear the man curse and shrug off his coat and shoes.

”I won’t let you get hurt.” He promises fiercely, looking deep into the little boy’s horror-stricken eyes. ”But you have my wand. You can protect yourself and he never has to know, I can alter his memories later, if you want me to.”

Severus’s breathing hitches in response. Harry wants to lay a gentle hand on his shoulders, but there is no time for conforting touches.

”I trust you, Severus. You can do this.” He nods at him encouragingly, holding the terrified child’s gaze seriously, not stopping to explain how he knows his name.

As they hear the bottles click together from outside, Harry moves in front of him, half of his body providing shelter, planting himself between the child and his abuser. Hopefully he’s giving Severus enough space that if he decides on a curse, he wouldn’t have to worry about accidentaly hitting Harry instead of his father.

In case he is too afraid, Harry knows he will be able to unarm the man without his wand; he _is_ angry enough that he imagines he’ll have no problems punishing that monster wandless. Anyone who treated such a young child this way deserved far worse than a simple _Stupify_.

Tobias Snape kicks the door open, and the air seems to leave the room for a second. Harry thinks, for a maddening instant, that it’s Uncle Vernon standing there. Then the man bellows: ’What the buggering fu-’ before both Severus’s and Harry’s spells hit him square in the chest. He staggers backwards and promptly passes out.

Severus lets out a whimper, and Harry turns around to lean down to him, but suddenly the whole place starts spinning, and the next second he finds himself back on the train, panting, alone.

+

He is shaking. Out of anger, not relief. He is livid. _How dare he. Why on earth… How on earth…?!_

That bloody, infuriating, patronising, boastful, just-like-his-father _turd_.

Fuck him. Fuck it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus goes shopping; Harry chooses a side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever since I saw some gorgeous fanart and a few very nice headcanons on tumblr, I'm imagining James's parents as immigrants from India, and James with lighter, but Harry with a darker skin colour. Just so you know, because it will come up, just not this explicitly, and I wanted to explain :)

(Chapter Two)

**four.**

Severus has been waiting for this day since forever. Well, ever since his mother told him about Hogwarts. Which might as well have been forever ago, at least it sure felt like that. He has been keeping count for the last month, not writing it down or crossing the days off (they never owned anything as luxurious as a calendar), but he took minutes before falling asleep to remind himself: its only seventy-two days away now. Fourty-eight. Twenty-two.

He almost can’t believe it even now, when he is walking behind his mother on the cobble stones of Diagon Alley. There is so much magic around, and so many other wizarding people, not just Lily and Eileen and that skittish witch who lives a street away from Spinner’s End.

They have a tight schedule for the day, as his mom explains hurriedly, and first they are to go straight to Madam Malkin’s for Severus’s robes. But they pass Magical Menagerie and Slug & Jiggers Apothecary on the way, and Severus can’t help it, his steps falter to a halt every time he notices something new. There are other kids in the street, running around or clasping their parent’s hands or pressing their noses into shopwindows. Severus wonders which of them will go to Hogwarts this year. He could be seeing some of his later friends now for the first time. (Lily and him, they can make other friends as well, they had a discussion about it before, when they agreed they’d still be best friends regardless of any other people. Severus really hopes it’s not only Lily who’ll get new-other friends, because this will be different than Muggle School, it has to be.)

When they finally get to it (his mother grabs his hand after the twentiest abrupt halt or so), Madam Malkin’s shop is just as intresting as all the others on Diagon Alley. Severus has seen robes before, but only in the back cupboard of his mother’s, under some rusty floorboards where she kept a few things hidden from Tobias. She has some money in there as well, usually, which she all collected and has taken with themselves (Severus checked before they left).

They go in: there are three people in the queue before them, so Severus is allowed to go and expore the displayed items: there are robes in every colour and style, made from simple materials for everyday wear and more expensive ones for special occasions. The ones in that section are the most beautiful: some have such complicated patterns and such a visibly rich, flowing heaviness to them, he can’t tear his eyes away from the pieces. He steps closer in awe and is startled when someone stands right next to him and does something which he didn’t dare: reaches his hand out to touch the clothes.

Severus’s eyes snap to the stranger: it is a short, young man with brown skin and rounded glasses. His hair is a mess, sticking into every direction, but he has an easy smile on his face: a smile, that was first directed at the expensive robe in front of him, but now is turned on Severus as he looks back at him.

”Beautiful, isn’t it?” The man asks and Severus shrugs. He thinks it is fairly obvious, and a rhetorical question anyway. ”Which one is your favourite?”

Severus shrugs again, this time more hesitantly. Mum doesn’t like him talking to strangers, but this man is a _wizard_. Severus wants to answer. And he wants to ask questions of him, too: like did he go to Hogwarts and how was it and what was his favourite subject and how many intresting spells does he know, because Severus knows 62 (sixty-two!) _very intresting ones,_ besides the simple levitation or accio and such, he knows ones that broke bones or make you lie compulsively or knock you off your feet.

He doesn’t do any of this, however: he looks at his mother instead. She is quietly talking to the shop assistant a few feet away.

”Mine is that light purple, I think. Or maybe this green? It’s so hard to chose when they’re all so pretty.” The short wizard speaks again, still looking at him instead of the clothes he is talking about. Which is… suspicious. They are really all sorts of fantastic, while Severus is ordinary, and not special at all, except for all the wrong reasons (the bruises on his body, mostly, the quality of his things, the other times). Maybe this is a test? To see if he’s good enough for Hogwarts. That it’s not a mistake they chose him, that he’s not a Squib, or perhaps too stupid for the school.

”The green is prettier, I guess.” He says and it comes out with a horrible tone, uncertain and shy, so Severus frowns. Then thinks that since he already started to talk to the stranger, he might as well continue. ”Did you go to Hogwarts?”

”I did.” The man’s smile grows. ”Are you going this year for the first time?”

Severus nods. The man could have known that if he was a tester of some kind, or he could have just made an educated guess, if he was merely a chatty person.

”You’re going to love it there. It’s… magical.” He is grinning still.

Severus smiles back, tentatively, more for the potential test’s sake than out of real feeling. (In the muggle school he had to attend, the teachers always said he had a sour look on his face all the time, with the sort of tone that indicated that this was something undesireable.) Severus hates it when adults make these sort of exclamations, but this time he can’t produce the usual sneer he feels at that: he _wants_ Hogwarts to be magical and lovable: he desperately needs something that’s good in his life besides Lily.

”Severus!” Eileen’s voice crushes the moment and Severus struggles to mutter a goodbye and scamper to his mothers side. She doesn’t scold him (which is what he expected), but leads him out of the store immediately, even though they haven’t done any shopping yet. When Severus points that out, his mom purses her lips and says:

”We haven’t enough money for such fancy things, not if we want to get you everything you’ll need.” Then her voice becomes a shade gentler. ”I’m sorry, Severus. I didn’t think it was going to be this expensive.”

There is only one other robe-shop on Knockturn Alley: Prime’s Clothing. It’s even fancier then Malkins’s: they come out of it as soon as Eileen sees the first pricetag.

They walk around some more, looking for clothes shops, then Eileen says she’ll just adjust some robes for Severus herself out of her old ones, if they won’t find anything in the other street she wants to visit later, so they go to get books instead.

Flourish and Blotts is huge and sparkly and loud. Severus is ordered to stay at his mothers side, which isn’t really a hardship because there is plenty to see in any given square metre. They are sent to the back of the shop for secondhand books (Severus’s face becomes angry-red when the kids in the line stare at him as they hear the shop assistant instructing them loudly to do that) but even already used books are _wizarding books_ so he doesn’t mind once he can take them into his hands. He could just imagine it, but they seem to be humming with magic.

When they are out on the street again, his mother says it’s time to get his wand and Severus becomes even more excited: he feels he could jump out of skin while his heart wants to escape out of his throat. His palms become sweaty, nevertheless, he’s so, _so_ ready.

Before they could reach Ollivanders’s door, however, someone bumps into Eileen forcefully enough that his mother and the other person both struggle to stay upright: and a few of Severus’s books end up on the ground and soak up the excess rainwater that covers the street in small puddles.

”I’m so, so sorry!” The person cries out and Severus is surprised to discover that it is the young man from Madam Malkin’s: then he swings his wand and collects Severus’s books with a flurish, drying them with another motion.

He surveys the result and mutters miserably. ”I ruined them completly, it’s all muddy now- I apologise. Let me pay for them.”

He takes a fistfull of Galleons out of his pocket and hands them to Eileen, who pales: Severus has an idea why. His mother explained the system of wizarding money to him on the train to London: all the muggle money she managed to save up amounted to three Galleons and a few Knuts. It was supposed to be enough for everything Severus needed for Hogwarts, and a night’s sleep in an Inn, and for Eileens trainticket back to Spinner’s End.

This is at least five times as much money, and Eileen firmly says no like Severus expected her to; but the wizard insists.

”Listen, it’s the least I can do after being so careless and ruining the books. Please accept it and buy your son some good robes.”

His words have the same effect on Eileen and Severus, both of them realising at the same moment what this is.

”We don’t need charity.” His mother raises her head high and steps away. Severus follows, but he has concerns: surely it would be fine? If the man wants to give it to them without expecting anything in return?

”It’s not that.” The stranger doesn’t give up. ”I just need to do something to balance out the loss I caused you by dirtying your property.” He pleads, widening his eyes behind the glasses, like it is a question of life or death to him. Severus notices, only now, that he has green eyes: very similar, intense greens, like Lily has. ”I just feel horrible. Could I pay for his wand, at least?”

//

It takes some more begging from Harry’s part, but Severus’s stubborn mother eventually agrees, if only to get rid of him or not make a spectacle out of them in the middle of the street. They go to Ollivanders’ immediately. Severus is silent and sullen, and it dawns on Harry _: what if he’ll get beaten up for this?_

He ponders this guiltyly before he realises that they are in a memory that happened completely differently before he went in and changed things: this was all totally meaningless, doing all this, but Harry had an inkling of how it felt to own nothing and be cruelly reminded of that fact (by the world or the Dursley, it didn’t really make a difference).

So similarly to the previous ’scenes’, he couldn’t just stand by idly seeing the whole memory play out, watching young Severus get… whatever way he got when it was repeatedly thrown into his face how little he had.

This… experience, or whatever it was, was probably feeding off Snape’s worst memories: maybe he subconciously gave them to Harry while he trusted him with the ones about his mother: or perhaps it was karma’s way of punishing him for the time he looked into Snape’s Pensive. Harry doesn’t really know – but looking at the small, skinny child, it doesn’t actually seems to matter either.

As long as he can do something to influence these events, Harry will not stand for anything that can potentially make young Severus sad. Nobody deserves this sort of life. If somebody, Harry could be taken as the authority on that.

He keeps thinking about doing other things for them, as they head toward the shop: how could he trick them into accepting a warm, fulfillling meal? He can’t do the accident thing again, Severus’s mother saw through that the first time. Perhaps he could lie they’d help _him_ with it: he is… lonely. His son or mother died recently, leaving him alone in the world, and he/she reminded himself so much of Severus/Eileen. His hypothetical mother seemed more likely, he is too young for a son of Severus’s age. Harry mentally apologises to his own mother, then cheers up, because he figures this is certainly something Lily would approve of: maybe not the lying, but making sure her childhood friend had a nice day and a hot meal. It was clear he desperately needs the latter: Severus is skinnier than how Harry remembered himself being at age eleven.

At Ollivanders’s shop, the old wizard stands at the counter, and to Harry’s relief, he barely even looks at him, his yellowish eyes eagerly find young Severus instead, who stares back at him, just as curious.

Harry feels a wave of nostalgia as the wandmaker goes about his business: he’s measuring Snape and keeps up a one-sided conversation as he detailes cores, lengths and wood-types while Severus tries several _Accio_ s and _Leviosas_ with wand after wand.

Then, upon being handed a new piece, Severus goes still. Half a second later, he announces:

”This is it.”

Ollivander hummes:

”That may be a good hunch, Mr. Snape, but I’ll still need to see some spellwork to verify your intuition. Proceed, please.”

Severus nods swiftly, then he points his wand to the floor and makes a circular motion with it. Harry almost shouts in surprise when red flames shot up and envelop Severus’s small frame in a circle: but by the time Harry lets out a shocked whimper, Severus has flicked his wand again and extinguished the fire with a small wind accompanied by a ’whoosssh!’ sound.

All three adults stare at him, and the seemingly untouched ground around him. Ollivander is the first to break the silence:

”Congratulations, Mr. Snape. Your wand has found you.”

Harry risks a glance at it while he pays: it is black and sleek, with intricate patterns at the foundation of it. When Snape holds it, that part remains hidden inside his hand.

He observes the way Severus touches the box with reverent fingers, placing it carefully into the bag his mother provides. His eyes are full of wonder and excitement.

As they step outside the shop, and Harry struggles to find a way to invite them to dinner (that doesn’t sound totally creepy), but the memory starts collapsing around him, and he is spit back into the empty carriage. 

+

**five.**

This is a memory Harry immediately recognises. Fifteen-year-old Severus is writing his OWL in DADA. Harry seeks out his father automatically, but doesn’t waste any time staring at him, considering that the students – this time – notice him, and are apparently confused about either who he is, or why he is standing between the tables and not writing an exam himself. Or both.

Harry slides out of the room as quickly as he can: he is lucky that Flitwick professor, who is overseeing the exam, had his back turned as he was talking to some student.

Harry thinks for a moment, outside, then summons James’s invisibility cloak: he is here for Snape, but the scene he already witnessed once is a few minutes away from playing out, and he has to do another thing first.

Cloak on, he sneaks back into the room and starts looking around the small tables. He finds the red-haired girl relatively easily, and protected by the cloak, he kneels before her table to see her frown at her paper. His mother scribbles and writes with singlemindedness; her letters are neat and pretty readable. She is younger now than Harry, and it breaks his heart, knowing that she’d never be able to live to grow old.

The words are out of his mouth before he realises he is speaking:

”I would save you if I could. I’m so sorry… I love you, mum.”

Young Lily freezes (Harry’s voice was low, but she had to hear him perfectly) and picks up her wand which lay next to her on the table.

”Who’s there?” She asks suspiciously, looking around and trying to pinpoint where the words came from. Harry sucks in a breath. He isn’t sure he’d not let his mother uncover him: he wants to see her reaction upon seeing him, he wants to make eyecontact with her, just once, just this once –

Lily starts swinging her wand, clearly to cast a revealing spell, but they are both startled by Flitwick’s scolding:

”Miss Evans! What did I say? _’Wands on the table!_ ’ I didn’t expect you to try to cheat.” The tiny wizard comes around her table, tutting. ”I’ll refrain from taking points this time, Miss Evans, but you and I are going to see your Head of House right after the exam.”

Lily becomes beet-root red as she hands her wand to Flitwick: Harry feels her shame even more acutely: he got her in trouble. He really hopes it’ll turn out fine.

He stays by her side until the exam’s finished, trying to project calm at her while feeling extremely guilty himself. Surely, Flitwick is a fair teacher. He’ll let her explain.

By the flow of the memory, he goes with Severus after the students are free to go: he doesn’t need to listen to his dad’s inane conversation with his friends. (He still remembers it totally clearly, thought back on it often enough over the years with never-ceasing unease.) He loves Sirius and Remus dearly, but undoubtedly prefers their adult versions to these premature teens.

He also realises, as he still can’t quite keep his eyes away from his father playing with the Snitch; that with Lily tied down with McGonagall, there will be no one around to stand up for Snape.

Well. Not nobody. He is here, and by now, he feels it more natural to be on Severus’s side than not. Sirius and James were bullies here, just like Dudley and Piers – and Harry has the adventage of knowing how this memory will go. He’d rather eat horseshit than allow the boys to take Severus’s pants off.

Nobody deserves that sort of humiliation. It doesn’t matter that this is an exercize in futility: so would have been letting the older Snape beat up his child, and Harry didn’t hesitate a minute there. These things are simply not happening to Severus under Harry’s watch. If he has to fight all the men he ever considered as his father-figures for it, so be it. Nobody will be stripped off their clothes in public, not without their consent.

He waits until they’ve disarmed Severus and stopped him going over to his wand, and then with as much theatricality as he can master, he bellows:

”Hey arseholes!”

He lets the cloak slip off him.

”How is it a fair fight, two againt one?”

James and Sirius stare at him, then at each other, gobsmacked. Sirius’s face clearly says: _”Now who the fuck is that?”_

”If you want a proper duel, face us both. Or are you afraid you can’t compete with Severus and me?”

Sirius is the first to break out of his reverie, but he doesn’t address Harry, rather turns to Severus, who’s still on the ground fighting his hex. Harry gets rid of that for him with a subtle movement of his wand.

”You know this guy?”

”You got a scary Indian boyfriend to protect you, Snivellus?” Young Pettigrew whistles in a really ugly manner, from behind his friends. ”Why, I didn’t think you could sink lowe—”

Harry’s wand is in his hands in seconds. His blood boils. He will kill that fucking rat after this fight, no matter the uselessness of such act. But for now, he must ignore his comment, focusing back on his godfather instead.

”None of your business, Black.” He swirles his hand around, and sees, relieved, that Severus had reached his own wand and was slowly standing back up, trying to keep all three of them in his sight. ”Are you a coward, or will you two fight against us in a fair match?”

Sirius snarls and turns to confer with James, who has been strangely quiet all this time, never taking his eyes off Harry.

”James, _’Piranhas’_ on three?”

The other boy shakes himself, then shoots another look at Harry that he can’t decipher. He grabs his best friend’s shoulder and turns them around and starts talking to him rapidly, but too quietly for Harry to catch more than the occasional odd word: _looks, uncle, strange_.

Severus steps next to him, still eyeing the two whispering boys a few meters away from them.

”Who are you?” He questions Harry quiletly, barely moving his mouth.

”I’m Harry. I’m on your side.” At Severus’s disbelieveing glance he adds: ”So I’ll be defence and you offence, okay?”

”No, I’m taking care of Potter, you Black.” Severus corrects maliciously.

Harry signs internally, wondering for a moment what has he got himself into, but out loud, he just says:

”No, they are a team. We need to be one too, to be able to beat them.”

”I can beat them on my own.” Severus argues with an alarmingly unfounded arrogance. God, _he_ is stupid as well. What is it with fifteen-year-olds? ”I don’t need your help.”

”Well, that’s tough shit, because you’ve got it anyways.” Harry spits back, and then the boys turn back around.

”We accept the challenge. If we win, you tell us who the fuck you are and do our dirty laundry for a week. And Snivellus--” Sirius’s eyes sparkle in humour; ”--Snivellus here will get naked and run around the lake… in the middle of the day.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. S _omeone_ is certainly very preoccupied by what Snape is packing. Well… he always had a suspicion Sirius might have been attracted to multiple genders. He shrugs, and looks at his seething, white faced duel-partner squeezing his wand way too tight. The same one Harry (or perhaps his mother, originally?) brought him.

He is so far away from Sirius’s collected, handsome aloofness, that Harry feels a pang of empathy towards him. He remembers the original memory, and his pale, skinny legs dangling in the air, and the feeling deepens. Perhaps that compells him to say:

”If we win, you’ll kneel down in front of Severus in the Great Hall and declare for everyone around to hear that he has the superiority over you in knowledge of spells and duellist skills. And you’ll leave him alone afterwards.” He looks over all of the boys shocked expressions, then turns to his companion. ”Anything to add, Severus?”

Young Snape stares at him, hard and long, so untrusting. Harry feels twichy. Sure, Severus probably doesn’t remember him from the previous memories. Still, why do they need to go over this every damn time?

 _I won’t hurt you. I want to help. I won’t hurt you. I want to help._ Harry repeats in his head, looking straight back to the boy’s dark eyes. He hopes Severus already acquired as much legilimency as he needs to read his face to get the message.

After a tense few seconds, Severus shakes his head. He redirects his gaze back to Black and Potter, who were just asking Remus to count to three for them.

The young Remus, along with Pettigrew, seems both curious as hell and cautious to boots.

”Get ready. On three. The first person to yield will lose in the name of his team. Wands out. One… two… three!”

For a long time, there is nothing, just hexes flying around. Harry instantly discovers that his dad and godfather are talented and quick, moreover that they move in perfect unison, always complementing each other. Harry can also tell that Severus has more in-dept knowledge, and Harry himself, well, he has the experiences he gained on the run.

There is no workout quite as effective as hiding from Death Eaters.

Severus, however, is reluctant to work with him. Contrary to what Harry told him to do, he doesn’t concentrate only on the offence, but wastes time putting up the same shields Harry does. Fuck, he is the same pig-headed teenager as he was as an adult. Harry quickly grows frustrated: this way, their clear advantage will get dismantled in the manner of two minutes. Out of desperation, he conjures up a shield with the force of a smaller sun: and while that blinds their enemies for a second, he hisses to Snape:

”If you don’t work with me, we’ll lose. Do you _want to_ run around the lake naked?”

Severus glares at him. Harry knows he’s in a bad position: he seems to have appeared out of nowhere, and he looks very similar to James Potter, except for his much darker skin and differently coloured eyes. It’s not easy to prove himself to be trustworthy in twenty seconds, but he tries the same way that seemed to have worked with the younger Severuses, up to this point.

”I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m on your side. I promise, I won’t hurt you.”

Severus’s eyes widen, his eyebrows furrow, then rise. He looks at him as if he can’t quite believe him, this whole situation, his words.

Miraculously, as Harry’s blinding spell dies out, he nods.

After that, when Severus lets him do the protecting, they almost effortlessly turn victorious over Sirius and James.

It takes a bone-breaking curse from Severus’s part, and a particularly powerful Shield Charm from Harry’s, but finally, James gets knocked off his feet, and Sirius gets stunned.

Remus and Pettigrew whisk them away towards the Infirmary immediately, and it’s all over rather anticlimaticly, by the time Harry’s breathing settles back to normal.

+

After the duel, they are walking around the lake together, a tiny bit awkward but trying to hold a conversation. Coming off of the adrenalin rush, Severus feels like he’s in a dream.

”So who are you?” He asks, desperately trying to feign nonchalance, when in reality, right now it’s the only thing he’s intrested in. His curiousity seeps out to his voice, but the stranger doesn’t seem to mind.

In fact, ’Harry’ is drunk on his attention, grinning wildly and gesturing in a very whimsical and in a not-at-all understandable way before giggling, and announcing:

”I’m Harry James Potter, a time and memory traveller from the future. Dumbledore said I died, and I chose to get on the train instead of going back, so this might be my „next great adventure”.”

Severus freezes mid-step, trying to make sense of that sentence, mouth actually hanging open. Then at the sight of the stranger’s attractive beam that he feels almost physically tug on his own lips to mirror the movement, he can’t help it: he throws his head back and lets out a laugh.

//

It is a careless, happy sound Harry never thought Snape was able of producing: he clearly figured Harry was kidding, or bonkers perhaps, and he’d be right at that, probably. Harry must have been crazy, to go through all this for a man who hated and belittled him for six years.

But through the course of seeing him in his worst, most miserable and vulnerable and shitty moments, Harry discovered that Severus was only a person, like others, with complex experiences, desires and flaws. He had his dark side: the tormenter, the abused, foul-mouthed, bitter part of him, and his lighter side: the one who trembled when Harry touched his wounds gently, the one whose laughter was so full of life and enjoyment.

Harry felt sorry for the child, forgave the bruised little boy, and couldn’t help but remain guilty about the man bleeding out on the Shrieking Shack’s floor; but the first time he felt something akin to affection was when he just heard the fifteen-year-old Severus laugh.

The joyful sound of it rang in Harry’s head for a long time after he found himself back in the carriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! :) Was it how you expected the story to go? Bombard me with comments, and I'll try to update on Sunday. :))) Thanks for everyone who already honored me with their kind words :)


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets involved. Again. Intimately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: slightly homophobic comments and language. I should have put this out at the previous chapter too, along with Mild Rasicm, but I'm so bad at categorizing these things: for the whole fic I was torn between Mature and Explicit, and I still don't really know. Anyhow. Enjoy. :)

(Chapter Three)

**six.**

In the next memory, Harry happens upon the young Severus and his companion so quickly he has to step backwards to avoid being seen. Especially, since – they seem rather chummy, the maybe sixteen, or seventeen year old boy and a very pretty, shorter brown-haired girl. They are standing closer together than it’s usual for simple friends, and yeah, Harry just managed to catch the moment when they lean towards each other to meet in a kiss.

_Finally, a happy one?_ Harry wonders, feeling bereft: he’s not needed, after all. He realises, just now, how he actually liked comforting Severus, all his young counterparts. Arriving so suddenly into a situation and trying to quickly figure out how he could help. He likes it because he was always better with spontanelity than with careful planning.

Also, he can’t help but feel protective of him, the young Snape, after all that happened, and weirdly, he even feels a slightly bit… apprehensive now, when it seems like the teenager Snape is having his first kiss at the moment.

_Make it a bloody good one, please_ Harry projects at the girl, then hesitates as to… he ought to give them privacy, right? That’s the decent thing to do, when people are kissing.

Except… The brunette laughs loudly and pulls away at the last possible second before their lips touch. Harry grows confused, then horrified upon hearing her words:

”Did you really think I would kiss you, Snivellus? You’re such an ugly tosser. None of the girls would willingly touch you – Sirius had to pay me to even get this close.” Harry feels his stomach painfully clenching around nothing in sympathy. _For Merlin’s sake._ And the girl is still talking: ”No hard feelings, though! Some people are just not cut out for romance.”

She turns on her heels and runs away, not even noticing Harry as her raised hands are stifling her giggles. Harry wants to fucking kill her – how can anybody be this cruel? How could Sirius?! But it’s useless to seek revenge in a memory – he has a much more important thing to do here: damage control.

Because young, vulnerable, and, at this point in life probably only slightly bitter Severus is standing there, in his old, secondhand clothes, and he tries to breathe through his mortification.

His cheeks are painted deep red by embarrassment– his hands in fists, lips pressed together into a thin line.

It’s not an unfamiliar image: Snape would make the similar enraged face twenty years later, when he caught them after they’d crushed with Arthur Weasley’s Ford Anglia – but there is a genuine, awful hurt in it now, one that Harry is all too familiar with.

It makes him think of a time when Dudley was torturing him with a slice of his eight-year-birthday cake, and Uncle Vernon suddenly said: ”No, Dudley, stop that. He can have one, just this once.” And Harry couldn’t believe it, he hasn’t gotten anything to eat yet that day (they must have forgotten because of the gigantic birthday party, when Harry had to hide in the cupboard while _Duddydums_ and his friends played). Unce Vernon told him to sit at the table, which he did, hands shaking slightly, looking at that beautiful multi-layered cake with green frosting and chocolate flare on top- and then at the last minute, Vernon Dursley simply said: ”Dudley, who’s is this cake? Whose birthday is it?” and slid over the plate to his son, who ate it, grinning at him maliciously. They proceeded to ’play’ the same ’game’ with the next three pieces.

It was one of the worst feelings in the world, in Harry’s opinion: hoping for something that shouldn’t be such a luxury: then people telling you you can have it too, before ripping it away from you completely. It made you feel worthless, inferior. Crushed you much more, because for a second, you believed you could have what others do.

There is no question in Harry’s mind about what to do next, just like the previous times in the memories.

”Well, she is just plain dumb.” He tries to choose his words carefully as he walks over to Severus, whose face immediately closes everything except his anger away. He isn’t too bad at hiding his emotions: Harry supposes someone who wasn’t used to 40-year-old spy extraordinaire Snape, or hadn’t seen him as a small child could have been fooled by him. But because Harry magically experienced both, he reads that face like an open book.

”I think you look handsome. In that dark, mysterious way. You look very intelligent as well.” Harry swallows, a tiny bit unnerved by the scrutiny of the other boy’s gaze. ”…I’m sure a lot of people like that.”

Harry doesn’t… completely understands where this comes from. It sounds like something Hermione would say, when she tries to be both rational and gentle about something. He hopes it’s the right way to go about this. If nothing else, Hermione was always better at dealing with emotions than either of her friends. And it doesn’t matter that it’s the first time Harry ever said such things to a boy: this is not really happening. There are no future consequences for him.

Severus snorts and looks around him.

”Black must be incredibly stupid if he things I’ll fall for the same trick two times. Where is he, hiding behind that bush where you came from?” His voice isn’t the same rich, deep tone Harry was used to from adulthood, but it isn’t too far off.

”No, I—” He tries to protest but Severus steps around him, not paying attention: he walks behind the greenery. Apparently he doesn’t find anything (thank Merlin, the last thing Harry needs is the Marauders eavesdropping on them), and although the space is relatively secluded by the bushes, there is nothing else around they could hide behind, so Severus goes back to face Harry.

”Nodody sent me. I was just walking nearby and overheard by accident.” Even he hears how unlikely that sounds. ”I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry. I just wanted to tell you she’s wrong.”

Severus’s expression is sceptical.

”I think you’re lying. And you look like you’re James Potter’s twin brother. Except… darker.”

How delightful. Seems like in his father’s generation it was more common to say borderline racist things.

”Well I’m not his brother, nor did he send me. And even if he tried to, I wouldn’t do that. I told you, I think you are handsome.”

Harry tries to look as honest as possible. It’s not _exactly_ a lie: Severus is compelling in his youth. He isn’t usual looking or even pleasant on the eyes: his nose is too big for the rest of his face, he has very prominent cheekbones, his complexion is skinny with knees and elbows all over the place. His eyes are way too observant for a person his age and he still has two round splotches of red on his face.

But all that doesn’t matter, because Harry _knows him_ : he’d seen this person at his worst, multiple times in fact, he has intimate knowledge of how cruel he can be, how scalding and impatient and petty.

He has seen him happy, though: laughing with his mother, concentrating on a potion, getting a spell right.

A hero who led a double life for years to help the good cause, and died a horrible death to help him.

At this moment though, he is just a person trying to shield himself from more humiliation.

Harry’s had those eyes scanning him with malice all the time over the years: this time, they seem unbelieving, even a bit self-concious. It makes Harry smile softly and quietly confess:

”I wouldn’t mind kissing you.”

And he finds that it’s true. Somehow he sensed this would be Snape’s first kiss, and whatever happened in the original memory, he hopes he can do better. He can kiss him how everybody deserves to be kissed for the first time: with passion, fondness and patience. (Without tears.) A ’sorry’ for all the times Harry thought Snape was the one behind some evil plot when in fact the man was protecting _his_ life.

This Severus can’t believe him, that much is clear. He keeps looking around, probably checking for gleeful third parties waiting to have a laugh at his expense. So Harry does the one thing he can think of; draws his wand and casts a few privacy spells.

Severus’s eyes widen, now.

”I mean it. I would… like to, if you’re willing.” Harry says, trying to find a middle-ground between an intimate and a matter-of-fact tone of voice. Severus only blinks at him, so many things echoing in his expression. But he doesn’t seem offended or totally disgusted by the idea, so Harry figures his gender isn’t the issue. Nor, perhaps, the colour of his skin, despite Severus mentioning it earlier.

So, here’s to Gryffindor braveness.

He lays a hand on Severus’s lower arm, and the other boy recoiles like he was touched by someting either ice cold or piping hot. Harry steps back, mortified. Fuck, this is a person who got physically bullied most of his life, and he hasn’t even considered that before reaching out to him.

”I’m sorry if I startled you!” He yelps out indignantly. ”I don’t want to hurt—mbdf”

The rest of his sentence gets lost between them, because suddenly, Severus is standing close and is attacking his mouth with his own: it is painfully obvious he has no previous experience: he uses way too much tongue, and bites him, then their noses collide… and shortly after the painful bump, he pulls away, dissappointed. Harry steps after him automatically, panting. It was undoubtedly the worst kiss of his life, although it still set his heart racing – and he doesn’t want to give up on that after one fumbling attempt.

Severus avoids his eyes, his blush returning. Before it could get even more awkward, Harry quickly whispers:

”I think a really good kiss is about the build-up. Start slowly…” He tries to catch Severus’s gaze. ”I could… May I?”

Severus nods, almost imperceptively, but as soon as Harry finished speaking. It breaks Harry’s heart a little. Is he really so unused to kindness?

He stands in front of him, and places a hand on the nape of his neck. Severus, although technically one or two years younger, is still taller than him. Harry strokes a finger down on the prominent jaw, suggesting him with the touch to lower his head a bit. The next second, he vision is enveloped in those deep, dark eyes, and then their mouths meet slowly. Severus is still for long seconds, while Harry’s lips move leisurely from center to corner, upper to lower parts of his mouth. He wants to use his tongue, to venture out for little tastes, but he doesn’t want to rush it, doesn’t want to freak Severus out.

When Harry thinks this will be it, they won’t progress further, Severus lets out a hesitant moan and opens his mouth slightly. His lips are thinner: Harry runs his tongue over the lower one experimentally. Then he presses an open mouthed kiss to the right corner, coaxing Severus more into his space with his hands, and goes back to rest his lips calmly against the other boy’s mouth. Severus mimicks him after a hesitant, stronger press of lips, so Harry maps his mouth thoroughly, unhurried, like he is sampling the tastiest sweets from Honeydukes - he nips and licks and softly bites until Severus starts responding in kind.

And it’s suddenly like he’s being pushed out of a boat and he’s falling into the ocean. Harry gasps.

It’s unbelievable, how **nice** it feels. For the briefest second, panic washes over him: _”Am I actually gay? What’s happening? This is Snape!”_ Then he remembers that this whole thing is merely a short dream leading him from one life to another, and he relaxes back into the simple pleasure of the act.

By the time they part for air, Harry’s face is burning, his heart all but wants to escape his chest and he can’t take his eyes off Severus’s red and shiny lips, wanting to claim them again.

The other boy seems to share his sentiment, because after a few shuddering breaths he moves in again, laying his own claim on Harry with newfound familiarity and building passion: this kiss is less and less innocent the longer it goes on. Severus is in turns dominant, if somewhat shy, but a delightfully quick learner: when he sucks on Harry’s tongue on his own volition, Harry feels his knees weaken.

”Sit down-” Harry requests between kisses and blindly pulls Severus over to the bench.

Their new position is simultaneously better and worse: better, because Severus doesn’t have to lean down so much and because this way, Harry doesn’t have to concentrate on standing up anymore, but they can’t move as close to each other as before, when all their upper bodies was just short of touching everywhere.

Harry can’t deal with a number of things Severus does though: his lips are sinfully soft, his tongue quick and clever, and the noises he makes steal Harry’s breath away as if he sighed or moaned them himself. He is painfully hard, but he didn’t notice when that happened and he choses to ignore how uncomfortable it is: the only thing that matters is kissing Severus more, for as long as he can.

Inside his head, he scrambles to make some sense of the situation. He can’t quite believe what is happening, but is even more baffled by _how much he likes it._

It is delightful to find out new information about him in a way Harry never thought he would feel about Snape: his palate is extremely sensitive, and Severus shivers almost every time Harry’s tongue touches it, so he goes back to it every few seconds. His whole body is on fire, and he wants Severus to lose his mind with want, to have him moan continuously about how good Harry makes him feel, to get even closer to him and –

Unexpectedly, there is a loud, sharp laugh a few meters away from them, followed by a whistle and a catcall by several students.

”Look, Snapey is getting some!”

”I wouldn’t be in that bloke’s place!”

”He’s a fag, haven’t I told you?”

Harry’s frowns. He must have unconciously dropped the privacy spells when they got really into it. Or maybe they’ve been kissing for so long the magic’s just… expired?

He feels Severus starting to pull back and square his shoulders, but Harry is so not having his best snog in his life (well, sort of?) ruined because of little homophobic arseholes.

So he growls menacingly, the sound coming deep from his throat as he lets Severus’s lips free for a moment, turns his head a bit and shouts out:

”He’s the best kiss I’ve ever had, so FUCK OFF.” And he mutters a few curses accompanied with movements of his wand, then when the hexes make them relocate elsewhere, he turns back to continue as they were. He catches Severus’s shocked eyes for a second before closing his own and kissing him again.

There is a startled appreciation in Severus, though, at least Harry likes to imagine that the heat of his kisses are the indication of that. To Snape, this situation must be even more crazy - Harry muses, realising something, and parts from him to giggle out:

”Oh, I just remembered, my name is Harry.”

The other boys suspicious expression quickly gives space to an amused one. He isn’t exactly smiling, but Harry doesn’t know what other word to use to describe what his face is doing. Severus puts out his hand between their bodies.

”Severus.”

Harry grins at him, and uses their handshake to tug him close enough to kiss again.

Some time later, Harry still doesn’t want to stop kissing him, but his lips feel raw, and he knows that even though he hexed the previous people, that doesn’t exactly stop them talking about what they witnessed to others – and they would, because that is the way of rumours when living in a secluded place –, so feeling horribly bereft, Harry lets the kisses slow and then pulls away completely.

The sight of Severus almost makes him to go straight back for more; he is beautifully pink all over and his pupils are wide with lust, he’s breathing heavy, and _Harry did that_.

”Thank you so much.” He hears himself say and winces: that is a pretty strange thing, thanking a person for being a bloody fantastic snogging partner. Especially since he knows there would be no follow up – this is only a manipulated memory of Snape, and the man, in the future, was a different person from the one Harry kissed, and anyway, he is dead. Well, _they_ are dead. It doesn’t mean anything, this. Just… doing something he apparently can’t help _not_ doing. Easing Harry’s consciousness and overpowering guilt, or… Something. ”Sorry. I didn’t mean to… make it weird.”

Severus remains silent, watching him like a hawk. It is strangely nerve-wracking, especially after his tongue being half-way down this person’s throat: it is hard to associate someone who was so sensual, soft and sweet-tasting with this mistrustful young man. Harry feels awkward.

”I just… it was my pleasure, okay? That’s all I wanted to say.”

Somehow, it seems to be the wrong thing to say, because Severus stiffly starts gathering his things, shoulders raised, muttering something but not looking at Harry. He stands up after a second and nods in his general direction. Harry catches his arm before he can storm off, forced cheerfulness in his voice as he murmurs:

”Take care, all right?”

Snape breaks himself out of his hold and tosses a „you too” over his shoulder and Harry suddenly feels miserable. He has no idea where he fucked up, but it is completely killing the pleasant buzzing he was experiencing before.

He only realises a second later, watching Severus’s quickly retreating form, that it is only him who knows this isn’t a real thing. The Severus over there doesn’t know he is a part of a memory; _that_ Severus operates under the impression that he is a teenager who just had a bloody good kissing session with someone else who seemingly came out of nowhere, then immediately afterwards brushed him off with the lamest not-excuse ever. No wonder he felt like getting out of there as quickly as possible.

Harry is running after him a second later, praying inside that the memory doesn’t choose this moment to end. All the other memories – he thinks he changed them for the better, and he doesn’t want to leave this one with such a sour ending.

”Severus! Severus, wait, please!” He yells as he reaches hearing distance.

The younger boy stops and turns, but only just: Harry knows he’s dancing on thin ice here.

”For-give me.” He wheezes out as soon as he catches up to him. His thoughts are swirling around like over-eager bees. ”I thought I could let you walk away like that but I can’t, you have to… could I take you out for dinner? Or, you know, anything, just a date. We can do anything you want, I’m not really adamant on food? Like, sure, I need to eat, but I’d rather spend time with you. Ummm, please? Consider it?”

”Why?” Severus tone suggests he very clearly considers just telling him to sod off instead, but Harry thinks he must have not messed up too bad, because his eyes are a bit more open then usual, and his shoulders seem more relaxed.

”Because you are an amazing kisser and I want more of that if possible? Plus you seem like an intresting person too, and I would love to get to know you better?”

He knows he’s won even before Severus opens his mouth to answer again.

”How sure are you?”

Harry grins at him.

”Like death.”

 

And while they stand there, looking at each other, Harry expects to feel the memory flow again in that stomach-turning way, so he’d find himself back in an empty carridge, like he did the previous times. But that’s not what happens.

What happens is that Severus, after looking down shortly to his shoes, then darting his gaze back to Harry’s eyes, says quietly:

”I’m free now.”

There is something in his voice, something urgent, that reminds Harry of the desperation he felt upon being sick in his cupboard over and over again: he must have been five-ish, had contracted a virus and thought he was going to die: he wanted to have just a hug from Aunt Petunia, just her hands to brush over his sweat-soaked hair; just one loving moment before he was gone. But when Aunt Petunia _did_ check his tempreture by touching his forehead, suddenly it wasn’t enough; he wanted her to stay with him for as long as he got better.

It was like getting water after you had none for a long time: you just wanted more, all at once, immediately.

Severus, like Harry, must have been pretty well acquainted with things he needed to get as much as possible as soon as possible. It was the greediness of a neglected child, what reflected out of his voice. Longing.

This is why Harry doesn’t really hesitate before swallowing and leaning closer to Severus’s ear.

”Do you know a place we can go?”

He imagines they both know he is not talking about a dining establishment. 

Severus nods and walks into the castle with him.

+

And then they’re on the bed. Before today, Severus’s never been kissed before, and now he can’t keep track of the kisses. He wanted to count them like he would the peanuts he gets for Christmas, but Harry is so generous, he gives them left and right, on his lips, on his neck, on his shoulder…

Severus never experienced this feeling before: it’s hot, and settles into his stomach, not completely unlike arousal, but it comes from deeper, and it flows over his molecules like lava. Harry is soft, smells of dreams (Severus finds the whole idea alone embarrassing, but he _really does_ ) and he is constantly touching him, with his hands, with his tongue.

There are parts of his body Severus always tried to hide or forget, and some he simply never considered. To be this much. This sensitive and appreciative to the touch.

Harry smiles at him when he gasps too loudly. Severus doesn’t know much legilimency yet, only just started studying the subject, but there is no need for finer skills to read the desire in his beautiful green eyes. Harry doesn’t mind that Severus moans, whimpers, and sucks in tiny, not enough breaths, in fact, Severus suspects he _likes it_ , and the concept itself is more mindblowing than the feeling of warm lips against his skin. It’s spectacular, knowing for certain that his first time will not be completely horrible, like he always feared it would.

Severus lets go of each item of clothing with the same caution. It’s a piece of skin he hasn’t shown to anyone voluntarily, and he’s not so keen on showing it to Harry now. But it’s quid pro quo, and at least the light dancing on the other boy’s moving muscles are distracting… and the continued presence of Harry not ridiculing, not harming him makes it even more novel. (Is he just saving it to be a one, big, devastating blow in the end? After Severus completely handed out himself?)

”I want you, Severus.”

His words are gentle, his breath hot, and his eyes are kind and full of lust, and his voice is edging him on and making him accept the unbelievable. He is a marvel, this boy, coming from nowhere and dismantling his defences like he hasn’t made them out of hurt and scorn and the single-minded will to survive.

His soft hands sneak into his trousers; there is no time to feel embarressed, because Harry’s erection is pressing against his thigh and it’s hot and rock hard.

Harry touches him like he’s worth something: like he’s something valuable. Something one can love.

Severus cries out silently as just after a few tugs, he explodes in his hands. The boy just looks at him, so unbearably pretty in his patience.

Severus would get on his knees for him, if they were standing, and in that moment, he can let go of the humiliation it would entrail if anyone ever found out about this submissive move: but they’re on the bed ( _equals_ – something suggests in his mind) so he can just slide down and suck Harry’s cock into his mouth. He’s sure he’s doing it all wrong, but he wants to try. He thinks he has to pay the kindness back somehow, and he feels safe with him to attempt something he always thought about, but would have never dared to experiment with with other Slytherins. Not like there were any offers made, but still.

However, there isn’t enough time for him to discover how he’d fare in the art of fellatio, because Harry grabs his shoulders all too quickly and moans: ”I’m gonna…!” And Severus hasn’t any time to decide whether to pull away or remain, because Harry’s seed is already in his mouth.

It’s not pleasant at all, but Severus brews potions, so he’s pretty used to less-than-wonderful tastes.

”Come up here.” Harry invites him, grasping at his shoulder, gaze warm and yearning.

”Kiss me, please!” He begs, and Severus is grateful that it’s not awkward, and they sink back into kissing as they wind down.

Harry is restless: even when they’re laid out bonelessly next to each other, he keeps tracing his palm over Severus’s chest.

It’s unsettling; Severus’s nerves are all on fire (he has been touched more this afternoon than ever before in his life) and the light, casual stroking only soothes then whips the sensations up over and over. He’s sure soon he’ll lose his mind, and something will blow up. He doesn’t know how, with spells or yelling or if even with words at all: maybe he’ll stay and lie on top of Harry and make him come again, trap his body against the sheets. Maybe he’ll go and light Spinner’s End on fire, maybe he’ll go and murder Sirius Black. Perhaps he’ll weep until dawn, something he hasn’t done in the last eight years.

There is something in himself just awakening. Its enormous and powerful and all-consuming.

He lets it dissipate and rise up again under Harry’s hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to share this with you guys. You give me so many smiles and fluttery feelings with the kudos and especially with your kind comments. :) What did you think about this chapter?


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next memory is quite upsetting for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here stands a warning for Implied (if canonical) Character Death, on several accounts. Somewhat heavily emotional scene, dealing with grief and death. This is also a short chapter, sorry about that, the last will be longer.  
> Shoutout to accioslash for writing me lovely comments :) , and thank you to everyone who'd commented/left kudos, I truly appriciate all and every bit of it, and it makes me smile throughout the day to know that people read my work. :)

(Chapter Four)

 **seven**.

Severus almost doesn’t notice the other’s presence in the room before it’s too late. Even in his mad, staggering grief he curses himself: he’s left an opening again. It’s a miracle he’s still not dead, at the rate he keeps making mistakes. He throws a protective bubble over himself and Lily, then, as an afterthought only, around the child in the crib. If it’s the Dark Lord coming back, it doesn’t matter, everyone else it’ll keep out.

Except it doesn’t, and Severus freezes as the person lowers himself down to squat next to him… no, next to Lily’s limp body in his arms. Severus is still shivering (has been since he has forced himself to step over James Potter’s corpse), but he’ll die before he lets some random stranger dishonour his Lily.

He tries to blink away the tears clouding his vision: he can’t help with his hands, one protectively around his best friend, the other pointing his wand at the person next to him.

Then Severus sees him, and for a strange moment, he thinks he recognises him: the brown-skinned man reminds him so much of James Potter, with the exeption of… Those eyes!

Severus turns his head to look into the crib so quickly his neck protests with a crack, but he doesn’t care about the pain, because the baby… The baby is not white. (He just always assumed he would be, what a terrible, racist mistake, he’s seen James’s parents at the wedding after all.)

He eyes the visitor on his right from the corner of his eye. It could be another relative of Potter’s, one he’s never heard of, but… But when he turns fully to face him, he can see the lightning bolt scar.

_Impossible! How?_

The Undoubtedly Adult Harry Potter doesn’t spare a glance at him: he stares at his mother’s lifeless body, and the look in his eyes makes Severus want to be sick. He heaves for a few breaths to fight the reaction.

”W-would y-you…” The young man speaks, voice barely audible, stuttery.  ”…mind g-giving me a moment with h-her?”

Sverus feels his hands cling to Lily like he’s some predatory bird holding onto his mice.

”I…” He starts, not knowing how to continue.

”Severus, please.” The Adult Harry breathes, sounding exhausted.

Severus, utterly undone by this person calling him by his given name, and the situation they’re in, can’t help himself: he whimpers. Every inch of him is made out of marble: he can’t move, not even if he had to in order to save his own life. He actually tries and his brain simply doesn’t cooperate.

Potter (the impossible one, and there is only him left now, the only Potter, an infant and a heartbroken sod next to him, one and the same in essence) sighs and to Severus’s astonishment, doesn’t do anything about him not honoring his wish. He doesn’t scream, yell or force his mother’s arms out of his numb fingers, he doesn’t hex him. Instead, he makes himself smaller, folds himself into a tight little thing, and his head almost touching Lily’s outstreched hand, says slowly:

”I’m so sorry. Mum, I’m so sorry.”

He repeats this, brokenly, for what feels like a thousand times. He doesn’t stop when Severus violently hurls himself away and throws up, not when Severus asks him to, and he still doesn’t do it when he demands, then begs he’d shut up, only quiets when Severus clasps a hand around his mouth in desperation, trying to physically keep the words in.

”It’s not your fault, you stupid shit.” He tells him forcefully. ”It’s _mine_.”

It’s the easiest confession he’s ever made, perhaps because he suspects the boy already knows, perhaps because he feels bone-tired, exhausted and blank in a way he never had before: nothing matters anymore. Lily is dead, and he was the one who killed her.

Potter (and there is no way that name won’t hurt him anymore, fuck, he hated James but he never wanted _this_ ) reacts the oddest way again. He straightens up somewhat, pushing himself back into sitting position. Then he shuffles closer on the ground, until they are uncomfortably close, and he puts a hand gently on his arm.

Severus freezes. He wants to shake him off, like one would an annoying bug, but he can’t. He doesn’t have the right.

The only thing he’s aware after that is the wetness: on his robe, his face, his hands. Grief, shame, guilt and drying blood.

”I forgive you.” The Adult Harry Potter whispers to him over and over again. The words somehow manage to hurt more than seeing Lily lie on his lap, unmoving.

//

Harry bodily throws himself out of the carriage and sinks down to the wall next to it. That’s it. He’s not capable to do any more.

He didn’t even know Snape was there, hugging his mother like… like he died with her too.

He never, ever should have seen that. He is eternally grateful he didn’t have to see his father, lifeless and young, body an empty shell.

He rubs his hands together, and reminds himself to breathe in and out, until his tears stop, for what feels like eternity.

+

**eight.**

Severus looks after the doe galloping closer to Potter’s camp, sighs and lowers his wand. A second later, he tenses again; he hears another person’s breathing.

”Professor.” Potter says quietly. Severus swirls around and stares as Potter raises his hands up high against the threat of the wand pointing to his chest. ”I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I won’t hurt you, I promise. Just… stay and talk to me, please.”

 _What the hell?_ Severus looks him over.

He’s older than the last time he’d seen him. It’s been months. There is stubble on his face. His t-shirt is torn, and too thin for the weather, yet he isn’t shivering. But most surprisingly, there’s a quiet matureness in him Severus’s never been on the recieving end of, as if…

Potter nods at him, with something akin to respect in his eyes, the same second Severus runs a diagnostic spell. What it shows confirms his suspicion.

 ”Ah.” He says and pockets his wand, while Potter’s eyes widen. ”I assume we failed, then? If you are here, all… ghost-like.”

His tone is flippant, but his emotions are raging inside. _This fucking war, this bloody year, killing Albus… it was all for naught?_

”I—I don’t know what happened to Voldemort, but yeah, I’m pretty sure we’re both dead.” Potter babbles, sounding slightly sheepish, _like losing his fucking life is only a mild inconvenience for him_. ”Sorry about that, I suppose.”

Severus snorts, wondering if it would be too petty to curse the bloody fool. He wants to slap some sense into him, but knows, deep down, that he isn’t really angry with the boy. And it would be fruitless anyhow, with the law of physics… Wait. If Potter is a ghost, how is he…?

”So if not to save the Wizarding World from certain perish via illegal timetravel, then why are you here?”

”I don’t know, I’m just traveling through some of your memories, it’s not intentional.”

Oh, he _definitely_ needs to hit Potter.

Severus is literally shaking with rage, not completely unlike the cauldron of Anti-Paralysis Potion Longbottom has completely butchered up. He hisses out in a low, dangerous tone:

”Prying into my private life again, Potter? Having tremendous fun?”

He hopes his voice conveys that this means ’ _give me one reason I shouldn’t murder you right now_ ’. Being dead certainly doesn’t count as one. He will kill him twice. Potter clearly needs to be _severely_ , _numerously_ dead, so it seems, to stop being a complete sodding nuisance. 

But wait, there is more. Because instead of running away, or fainting, or begging for a chance to live and redeem himself, like any sane person would do, Potter laughs.

The fucking brat never reacts how he expects him to.

”If you want to know, yes! We had so much fun! We beat Sirius and my dad in a duel, and we kicked your father’s arse and we snogged our brains out, so YES, YOU COULD SAY WE HAD QUITE A SPLENDID TIME!” He finishes, almost shouting, with a manic sparkle in his eyes.

Maybe not so surprising, after all. Potter, like Severus always suspected he would, went barking mad under the pressure the last year presented. His words make no sense, and not in the usual ’my friends call me Roonil Wazlib’ way.

Severus looks at his panting ex--student as if he’d just announced he’d grew two more heads and moved to the Moon with all of Arthur Weasley’s rubber ducks.

”What?!” Severus spits, and the situation is suddenly quite histerical. Harry Potter keeps laughing as if _he_ has the upper hand, as if _he_ has all the information Severus doesn’t know.

”Yes, I know how the insides of your elbows taste and I heard you laugh and I saw you blast your father into a wall when you were five, so small and brave like a tiny little Gryffindor, and---”

And he’s hyperventillating. Severus hates this boy with a blind ferocity he has perfected over the years – but if anything, he hates the instinct to help him that overpowers him every time the stupid little shit needs some sort of protection. Is it coming from himself, or the oath he’s taken, Severus doesn’t even bother asking himself anymore.

”Potter, sit down,” He demands, stepping closer and attempting to press Potter down by his shoulders. ”You’ve clearly lost your tiny mind. Put your head between your knees and breathe!”

Harry giggles into his face, in a slightly wild, remarkable fashion. His eyes are vibrant, and Severus only notices the teartracks on his face now. ”You are such a bastard, and I actually like you!

It’s truly enough of this nonsense. Will there be any side affects, if he curses someone within his own memory?

”I know you now! You’re horrible and fantastic and nasty as hell and I like you.”

Snape looks at him long and hard, then he flicks his wand and stupefyes him.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think will happen in the next chapter/what are you hoping for? :) Just a quick survey. :D


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I won't hurt you. I promise."

(Chapter Five)

 

When he comes to, he’s sitting in a carriage again, but this time, he’s not on his own.

Snape, the real one, dried blood all over his robes, pale like a ghost, is sitting opposite him, trying very hard not to acknowledge him while watching his every move like the great big hawk he is.

Harry lets him do just that as he looks around: this is a compartment like the previous ones he visited, same drapery and atmosphere, but he’s not in a memory this time, he can feel it. Somehow, the cabin is very _Snape,_ even without counting the sulking man himself. Oh, he’s crossing his arms now. Harry doesn’t want to smile but it’s a bit petulant. A tiny bit ridiculous.

”Hey, Professor.” He says quietly. He doesn’t think he ever used such a gentle, searchingly kind tone against the real Snape, and it must be true because suddenly his teacher meets his eyes and scowls at him.

”This is my train, Potter.” Snape bits out. His hands are in fists next to his body.

”I know.” Harry answers, even though he didn’t. But it makes sense. Why it was full of Snape’s memories, why it feels so much like him. It’s not recognisable like his smell, or his intelligence or anything: it’s more like it’s his essence. Powerful, deeply hurt, strong, hopeful. Harry is drunk on the colourfulness of it: he has been, since getting on, and spiralled deeper with every memory, without once noticing it properly.

”You still have no concept of privacy, and that’s horrendously unsettling, especially in your age.”

Oh.

”Do you-- Have you seen what…?”

Severus’s look says everyting. It’s not a nice glance, it doesn’t say „thanks for standing by me when I was too young or vulnerable or simply grossly unloved” but Harry realises he’d be fooling himself thinking Snape might admit he appriciated any of that. Which is a shame, because if they could talk about that, Harry could… Offer. Maybe. In the hope of some future laughter.

”In the last one, you stunned me.” He says conversationally instead. He feels calm and gittery at the same time.

Snape seems pleased by that. He taps his chin with a long finger.

”That was the first time I figured out you’re putting your nose where it doesn’t belong. Again.”

Harry ignores the comment, mostly because it feels like the quiet before the storm, and he has to at least attempt to sidetrack Snape to prevent him exploding.

”So how does this work then, did we change the memories or do you still remember what happened originally? How was this even possible, like, magically, I kept wondering, do you have a theory… sir?”

Snape _is_ seriously pissed. Harry doesn’t know if it’s his intentionally flippant tone, or the whole experience they have just shared, or… oh, who is he kidding? It’s everything all at once magnified by infinate. Snape was never, ever this close to killing him before: and Harry, thrown back to his school-years, panics a tiny bit, until the hilarious (and more importantly, true) idea strucks him: Snape _can’t_ , actually. He’s already dead. For the first time in his life (death!), he’s totally safe from Snape’s wrath.

Nevertheless, Snape explodes at him with the vehemence of an angry troll. He is genuinely terrifying, but somehow Harry feels like he’s observing him from underwater, so the emotions don’t completely knock him on the ground.

”Satisfied all your curiousity now?” The man hisses at him. His jaw is tight to a point where Harry feels a sympatethic ache in his own. ”Let me ask you again, Potter. _Have you had your fun?_ ”

Harry stares at him, baffled now. _What…?_

”What sort of person tells a child _’oh, poor Severus, don’t fret, some people will love you later in life, you just have to wait_ ’.” He mimics Harry’s higher voice mockingly. ”I’ve always known you are a pathological liar, but a cruel one?”

Harry takes a deep breath to interrupt, but Snape shoots him a look that effortlessly silences him.

”Oh, shut up, Potter. I’m not finished recounting your heroics! No, because after it became clear from the first memory, you, instead of getting off the train that’s not yours, _like any decent person with half a brain would_ , decided to barrell along! For what use I wonder? What sort of cookie points do you presume to get in death? Or have you just enjoyed involving yourself so much, mocking me over and over to your sick, twisted heart’s content?”

Snape’s eyes are burning, and Harry cannot imagine how they can be talking about the same scenes. How can he think he was making fun of him?

”When do you think I was mocking you? What did I do?”

Snape looks ready to strangle him with his bare hands.

”You choosing to butt in memory after memory is offending enough, but you weren’t simply satisfied by watching from the sidelines! No, you had to participate. Can’t stand a story you’re not the hero of?”

_God, this again._

”Jesus, I didn’t want your fucking spotlight!” Harry snaps, then quickly reels the anger in. Actually, although he still wouldn’t change anything, he knows, somewhere deep down, that Snape is mostly right. He invaded his privacy again, but honestly, how could he not? ”You were just… miserable, and I wanted to help you.”

Snape goes so red in the head so quickly that Harry honestly worries his head will blow up.

„I DID NOT ASK FOR YOUR PITY!”

Harry crosses his arms and levels him with a look that says Snape is dead-wrong, but he doesn’t have a chance to support his claim with words, because Snape continues with his rant, barely even taking a breath. He does the dangerously contained tone again, like they are standing on top of a vulcano that will erupt if he raises his voice, but he wants nothing else to do than yell as loud as he can and this is the temporary compromise. Immediately after the shouting, it’s so effective Harry gets goosebumps.

”Of course, I get it now. Saint Potter had to save the day. He’d gone in, sprounted lies, pretended to care. ’ _Severus, you will be loved! Severus, you can stand up to your bully! Severus, you’re so handsome and so good at duelling!’_ ”

It’s like the electricity is crackling between them: Harry has a strange sensation as if it’s manifesting in sparkles coming out the ends of his hair.

”I meant everything I said or did!”

Snape pants, then spits it at him:

”Well then you are lying to yourself as well as to me. That cannot be the truth.”

They stare at each other, for a second, the silence suddenly deafening. Snape is breathing hard and Harry can’t help but match the movements of his chest. It feels good: like expanding it would help his emotions fill out the space more as they battle for dominance: Harry is used to feeling so many things at once nowadays, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It hurts him, because he understands Snape crystal-clearly now, and what he sees breaks his heart. He wants to touch him and hold him as he deserves, but he is also angry at him, like he always was. Why does he have to push away everything positive? Why can’t he make it easy for him? Forgiving the younger, innocent, abused Severus was easy enough, every single time. Forgiving this one, the bitter, dark arts-loving bully, his horrible, hateful teacher? It’s torture. But he has to try, because the younger Severus is there somewhere, and he’s worth it. He deserves love and affection just as Harry does, just as Professor Severus Snape does. Just as every person in the world does. Even Voldemort, a spineless, pathetic creature under a bench. That thing may be beyond saving, but this man, who’s sacrifized himself for the hope that their side would win, certainly isn’t.

He sighs, and his frustration is almost palpable in the air between them.

”It must be exhausting, keeping up all those walls around yourself.” He finds Snape’s eyes and holds his gaze, determined to make him _understand_ this.  ”You can never be loved. Anything nice happens, it must be for some devious reason. Someone does something for you, they must want something in return. Maybe just a good laugh.” He sees something flicker in his professor’s black irises, but it’s there and gone again. Harry trusts his hands up theatrically. ”Well, you’ve seen right through me! I just want to laugh at you, because you got beaten and ridiculed and hated for no reason whatsoever. And I find that _horrendously_ funny because hey, some of those same things didn’t happen to me, no, not at all.”

Snape just ignores him and shoots back:

”You had no right—”

”Yeah, I had no right, I KNOW!” Harry shouts, and he forces himself not to sound defensive. ”I’m a stupid, shitty human being for invading your privacy all the fucking time, I KNOW, but I WILL NOT apologise for threating you, every single version of you with the respect they deserved!”

Snape grimaces.

”Respect?” He mouthes disdainfully. He doesn’t believe him.

Harry shrugs, his tense shoulders hurting.

”Yeah, maybe that’s not the best word. Decency. Care. Love. I don’t know. Kindness.”

Snape is still angry, but now there is a confused incredulity in his tone as well:

”So let me get this straight, you arrived, saw a man beating his child and you showed your respect by making that child aware that you witnessed him in such a…” He follows, searching for words, then probably not finding a better one, spits out: ”humiliating situation?”

Harry wants to stoke his face and slap him at the same time.

”No, that’s not what I… Snape, did the child you really feel embarrasment? Humiliation? Or was that just _you_ , realising that I’ve seen you in a vulnerable moment?”

Snape looks away and fixates his gaze on the curtain of the carrige window. He doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.

Oh, that stubborn, foolish man. He twists Harry’s stomach. How can he not see the similarities between them?

”It wasn’t your fault.” Harry says quietly, with conviction. ”The only one who should feel humiliation is your father. Hurting a child you’re supposed to love is the most disgusting, coward shit someone can _possibly_ do.”

The older man’s face twiches upon hearing Harry’s words, much in the same way as if Harry just struck him across the back with a whip.

Harry knows how that feels too. He had the exact same reaction when Hermione told him this. But it’s better now, has been, since he started believing it. And it needs to be said.

They are silent for a long time, until Snape’s laboured breathing returns to something closer to normal.

”So what is your excuse for every other time? How does the golden boy of Gryffindor explain grabbing a wand against his precious father and godfather? …If not out of pity?”

However horrid Snape’s being, Harry now hears the need from behind his words. He wants to understand. He could’ve cursed Harry off his train the moment he’s seen him, but he didn’t. He tries to communicate with him, to talk the events through: not the way a nice, unhurt person would: he talks the only way he knows how, using insults, but the desire is there nonetheless.

It’s like how Harry was in fifth year, when he tried to find out any information about what was going on, and he destroyed Dumbledore’s office. He wanted to vent, simply, but he wasn’t capable of doing it properly, because his emotions overwhelmed him so much.

But for the duelling memory, his answer is actually pretty simple.

”After my parents were killed, they put me into the care of my muggle aunt and uncle. They have a son, Dudley. He was always bigger than me, and he and his friends used to chase me around trying to beat me up all the time. Sometimes I could get away, but not every time.”

Now it’s him avoiding Snape’s gaze. He knows it doesn’t illustrate _him_ as a person, but it’s still difficult to be uneffected by recounting what happened.

”I fail to see how that is relevant.” 

Harry chuckles. What an atrocious lie. But he explains anyways:

”Dudley and his friends were the same sort of bullies to me that my father’s group was to you. More against one, singling us out because we were different, easy targets. I stood up to my childhood tormenters there, technically, not just for you.”

”And yet it felt awfully personal.”

He sounds like a sulking child now, but Harry knows this is not the time to point that out.

”Again, Snape, do you expect an apology because I was on your side? Because if the same thing happened to literally anyone else, I’d do it without thinking, and if someone else did it to _you,_ I’d do it again. Even if you’d insist otherwise, I’d still stand by your side to kick their asses.” He remembers the baffled face of young Sirius, and can’t hold back a smile. ”We were quite something, once you trusted me enough to work together.”

Severus turns his head again, but Harry can see the smile tug on his lips and his head starts spinning with the longing for it. He wants to see how it changes _this_ Snape’s expression, how that smile looks in his eyes. He wants to discover the sixteen year old Severus, so beautiful in his pleasure, in this one. The whole person, Snape sitting in front of him, stripped naked of his defences. Something more than his witty sarcasm and the wires he drew around himself to keep the whole world out.

Because whatever happened in those original memories that Harry ’changed’, even if he didn’t write them completely over, he still introduced another direction to them. A possible way things could have happened. And if those unchanged, horrible experiences were the things that shaped _his_ Professor Snape into the way he is today, who is to say Harry can expect nothing to come off his adventures with the altered memories? Severus lived through them again, according to his words: maybe it’d make him think about life in another light.

”However pathetic, emotionally foolish way you hope to convince me you were honest and pure in your intentions, your whole reasoning falls on its face on one memory.”

Harry listens, no idea which he’s reffering to, but Snape doesn’t say anything else, just does a weird headmotion Harry can’t decipher.

”You _know_ what I’m talking about.’ Snape snaps, half muttering, a new, different edge to his frustration. It almost sounds like… embarrasment? No, it can’t be. Severus Snape doesn’t do shy. Then Severus’s face gradually reddens in those now familiar splotches, confirming his suspicion.

He grins. Jeez, he still can’t quite believe that happened-

”Oh, you mean that one where I kissed you?”

Snape makes a sound somewhere between chocking and snorting.

”You did a great deal more than that.” He mutters, looking away. Did he want Harry to hear that comment?

”Yes.” Now Harry feels defensive as well, uneasy again. He feels himself grow uncomfortable, and he’d prefer to keep those memories pure, he doesn’t want to let the Older Severus muck them up. There is a preciousness, an innocence in them Harry can’t explain, but what makes his heart skip and his mouth run dry, so he goes ahead before the man can start his scornful misinterpretation of what transpired there exactly. ”It was real. We… we made love.”

Snape stares at him, while a weak laugh escapes him: the sound is disbelieving, almost hurtful in its emptiness, but his eyes speak of an entirely different thing. They are wide open, full of fear.

”Potter, that’s… ridiculous.” He whispers into the silence between them.

Harry wonders if he wanted it to sound convincing or perhaps simply _sure_ and not… terrified.

Harry wonders if he’s aware that he only sounds like a crying little boy telling his mum he really doesn’t want a hug.

He smiles sadly. They circled back to the same thing again. This is the cornerstone of Severus’s problem.

”Yes.” He murmurs back with the same softness, in total seriousness. ”Like I said. How utterly ridiculous, that someone could love you.”

Snape recoils again, like he was hit by the words, but he recovers quicker and there is a manic light in his eyes.

”How could I forget the Great House of Lions! Five memories witnessed, and now you’re head over heels in love with me, _obviously_.”

Harry laughs out loud. Who would have thought he could be this open with Snape, and that it would come to him so naturally? That he’d come to understand this man so perfectly, and moreover, even enjoy him in some ways?

”No, you big tosser, I’m not! You were a bastard to me for seven years! That doesn’t magically go away because I’ve started better understanding where you come from.” His laugh gentles into a smile. ”I’m just saying that it’s not impossible. Someone could love you, if you’d let people in. I know _I_ could. Umm. Given time.” He volunteers, putting on a casual face while he ignores his heart racing. He didn’t want to say that last bit, not this early, not this quickly.

Snape is shocked into silence. He’s been following Harry’s facial expression with wide eyes, but now that Harry looks back at him, he doesn’t seem to know how to react. However, he allows his uncertainity to shine through, and Harry can recognise that as the giant gesture it is.

So he risks it too:

”If you.” God, his mouth is dry. ”If you’d give me a chance, I’d certainly try.”

He must have gone mad, but it’s true. He would. For that laughter and the way Severus let himself go in his arms. For his understanding, for his friendship. He totally would.

”You’d try.” Snape repeats with disdane, but it feels more habitual than honest.

Harry reaches out to touch his hand. Snape stares at his bronze fingers, covering his paler ones. Harry waits until he looks up at him again.

”I would.”

Harry lets him search his eyes for all he wants: he thinks Snape might be using Legilimancy, he’s looking at him so intensly. But it doesn’t come with the horrible whirlpool of images of his memories like it had when they were practicing Occlumency, so Harry actually invites him, tries to open up more for Snape, allowing him to read his intentions out of his very soul. _I’m honest -_ he thinks at his ex-teacher. _Look. I really mean it._

He doesn’t know how much time passes, but after what feels like forever, Snape turnes his head away. Harry hates not seeing his face to guess what he feels, but he understands Severus might need a moment to compose himself. (And decide.) There is nothing else Harry can say, except, perhaps:

”I won’t hurt you. I promise.” He’ll keep telling this to him as many times as it takes for Snape to believe him.

Severus looks back at him, a mixture of anger and hurt. And then Harry can see the moment it hits him: every time Harry had said this, he’d kept his promise.

It’s such a clear eureka moment that shines through Severus’s eyes that Harry can’t help but smile. Snape glares at him. Somehow they’re still holding hands though, so Harry squeezes his fingers and keeps smiling.

Severus blushes and huffs and looks everywhere and does a myriad of other things to communicate how uncomfortabe he is, but Harry can tell that he’s going to accept, and just tries to find a way to say yes without giving too much of himself away. He waits for it, patiently, stroking Severus’s fingers slowly.

He _can’t believe_ what he’s gotten himself into: he’s sitting on a train that’s about to depart into whatever there is after death; and he’s holding Severus Snape’s hand, hoping for the man to accept his… potential affections.

Jesus, Ron would have a field day with him.

There is one thing certain, though: it already beats getting murdered because of a stupid profecy.

Snape seems to pick up on his line of thought, or maybe he’s still stealthily mind-reading him, the git.

”I suppose, if we arrive to ’heaven’, or whatever is waiting for us over there, I’d enjoy seeing the face of Potter Senior and Black when you tell them you’ll be courting me.”

Harry lets out a surprised chuckle which turns into a terrified gasp as he imagines Sirius’s reaction as well. Shit, what will his _Dad_ say? Severus, watching his horrified face, also starts to snigger.

They are both laughing (a bit hysterically, a bit relieved, a bit self-deprecatingly), gripping their laced fingers tightly, when the train slowly jolts into a start.

 

_The End…_

_… for a while, at least_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end, for a while, because I obviously can't let them die just like that, and then we'll follow their story from here on, when I actually get there and write it all. However, there are other projects in the cauldron now, so I can't give you an exact date yet. But, darlings, thanks to everyone who'se stuck with me and my story until this almost-end. I thank you for all your kind comments, and if you'd like to, tell me how you felt about this ending. :)

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think so far? Let me know in the comments :)


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